


Dinner In

by twitch



Series: Tonight [3]
Category: Crash Pad (2017), Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Homage to classic rock, M/M, Making Out, kylux adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 01:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13870083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitch/pseuds/twitch
Summary: Everything was ready for their dinner in. Not necessarily the dinner date that they originally talked about.Mellie might disagree with him later.





	Dinner In

There was very little he could accomplish in secrecy, due to the nature of Charlotte but also the Logan family. The town made it too easy for gossip and rumour to spread. It was the way when he was a kid and many years later it remained the same. It was a comfort and a nuisance. When their parents passed away they had the support from neighbours, the friends of neighbours until the whole town was on their side.

Their parents kept them busy, making sure they took care of everyone and played together – and kept each other out of trouble. Mostly it was Mellie and him keeping Jimmy out of trouble and him and Jimmy being protective of Mellie. When they weren’t bickering in the good-natured manner that most siblings did it was easy enough to spend time together when plans with friends fell through. 

Clyde got out of the grocery store without any raised eyebrows. A little extra food could be justified as a meal spent with Jimmy and Mellie.

But Jimmy was spending the night with Sadie, coming back home early morning.

And Mellie agreed to pick up his shift at the bar.

Had she known he was planning a dinner with Stensland she would never let him hear the end of it. She’d claim that she knew he had a thing for him since the beginning. Not that it was uncommon for friends to get together for dinner. But a dinner with the boys, as Jimmy sometimes played host to, involved a night in front of the television to watch sports over chips, popcorn and pizza. And the vegetables that he picked up from the store would not be the topping over greasy nachos.

Setting the bags on the counter he glanced quickly around the kitchen. He cleaned it after breakfast, the rest of the house the previous afternoon. He’d have to give the counters and cooking area a quick wipe down before Stensland arrived.

All because of a conversation concerning the merits of dinners spent in or out.

In truth, a conversation about ideal dates. 

Perhaps Mellie was right.

Turning on the kitchen radio he started grouping the food around the oven. Package of chicken on the cutting board beside the sink. Vegetables on the other cutting board on the opposite side of the oven. As much as he would’ve liked to turn on the barbeque the nights were starting to get cold. Not to mention he’d be going back and forth to keep an eye on the vegetables while they cooked. One location would be easier. 

It was surprising that for all their conversations, a month since his arrival in Charlotte, he and Stensland had most of their talks in the bar. After their agreement to dinner the topic shifted. Then came customers who were all to happy to chat it up with him between orders.

As it got busier he didn’t notice that Stensland had slipped out.

Next morning, cleaning up after breakfast, the phone rang. 

He forgot that Stensland asked for his number. 

It seemed too early for his break, which explained the quiet voice and short conversation, but Stensland offered his place for dinner on Sunday night. Friday and Saturday would be too busy at the bar to manage even an early dinner so Sunday was more flexible, right? 

Clyde barely registered the promise that he did know how to clean despite previous flatmates’ claims. What time would work best with his schedule and did he have any weird food allergies? He once heard someone was allergic to celery of all things. He had a cousin who was allergic to raisins. That wasn’t too horrible since no one really liked raisins but it turned out she was allergic to grapes, which in turn meant she was unable to eat raisins. The sad part of that was she couldn’t drink wine which was just fine since she always preferred whiskey and-

“You sure you don’t want to come over to my place for dinner?” Clyde asked while balancing his phone between ear and shoulder, putting the last of the dishes away.

There was a sharp breath on the other end. Stensland had been rambling quicker than normal on his non-break time call. “I suggested the dinner, so I sort of thought it was my responsibility to do dinner. At my place.”

“But if you come to my place I can convince Mellie to cover my shift.” At the time he wasn’t sure how he’d get Mellie into the bar in his place but if he left the house when she’d be busy he wouldn’t have to come up with a lie. “I’ve got a nice place too. And my neighbours don’t sound as nosy as yours.”

“You pose a convincing argument. You’ve won this dinner round.”

Later that day, on his actual break, Stensland phoned back to get his address.

Saturday he cleaned. It was not just an effort for Stensland as he realised, that aside from the kitchen and bathroom, the last time he cleaned the whole place was over a month ago. Decided what would be a good dinner. It had been far too long since he had cooked for more than one. Then he phoned Mellie. Decided to tell her that a friend from out of town was coming over Sunday afternoon and if she could work his shift she’d be a lifesaver. 

Technically Stensland still had the reputation of “out of town”-er. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

He had just placed the frying pan on the stove when someone knocked on the front door. The door was unlocked as per normal daytime regulations, siblings often dropping by, but shouting that line to Stensland was not the greeting he intended. 

Bunching the towel in his hand to dry off his hand Clyde made his way to the front, opening the door. “Next time you don’t need to knock. As long as I’m awake I keep the door unlocked,” he explained to Stensland. 

“That’s not how we do – did things in Seattle,” Stensland commented once he was inside, shifting the bottle he held from one hand to the other to take off his jacket. 

Stensland offered him the bottle but he shook his head lightly. “You didn’t have to bring anything over.”

“But it’s tradition!” Stensland followed his protest with an amused huff. “I would’ve brought wine but I don’t know if you like wine, or if you had a favourite. And bringing beer over to the best bartender in Charlotte would be redundant. So! After a struggle I finally decided on the best present a second-or-third-hand Irishman can give to another.”

Intrigued despite himself Clyde twisted the bottle in Stensland’s grip until he could read the label. Smirked. “Irish Whiskey.” 

“Three years old, fresh off the boat. Vir- no – Unopened.” A brief glimpse of panic had eyes widening before Stensland relaxed again. “No exchanges or refunds.”

Stensland happily gave up the bottle when Clyde brought it closer to read. “This is from Ireland?” 

“My cousin – not the allergic one – brought it over when he came for a visit three years ago.”

“How much of your family lives in Ireland?” Clyde asked, leading the way into the kitchen.

“All of my mom’s family.” Stensland’s gaze took in the kitchen but drifted back to him when they stopped. “She came to Seattle to visit friends but when she met my dad, who was going to university there, she stayed. My dad was born in Chicago, though his dad moved the family from Ireland to give his family more opportunity here.”

Taking out two glasses Clyde moved over to the fridge. “So how did you keep the accent?” 

“One of my uncles moved back to Ireland and as it turned out, my parents would take me back to Ireland every summer, visiting all of the relatives,” Stensland explained with another huff, eyes merry. “And apparently a redhead in Ireland can’t go around talking with an American accent even if he is American. All my cousins insisted.”

“It must be nice having family overseas.” Bringing the ice tray to the glasses Clyde filled them. “It makes for an easy vacation spot.” 

“It’s lonely.” Pursing his lips tightly, a late attempt at censoring, Stensland shrugged it off. “My parents passed away nine years ago. My one Uncle moved his family to Toronto when he had the opportunity for a work promotion. Grandma passed away after my grandpa and that was… fifteen years ago. It makes me appreciate a town to city life. People are welcoming even to an American with an Irish accent.”

“My family has always lived here. The people are always friendly.” Clyde opened the bottle and poured the whiskey up under the top layer of ice. “At least most of them are.”

“I’ve learned my lesson.” Stensland held up his hands in acknowledgement and ceasing attempts of something Clyde didn’t know required a ceasefire. “I will no longer hold doors open for Sam.”

“Really?” Snorting under his breath Clyde shook his head. Setting the recapped bottle back on the counter he picked up the glass closest to Stensland, offering it, the constant bartender. “Cheers.”

Smiling Stensland clinked his glass to Clyde’s. “Sláinte.”

A comment was on the tip of his tongue but he chased it down with a sip of the whiskey. “It’s good.”

“Of course it is, it’s Irish.” Wetting his lips a second time, a quick impish flick of his tongue, Stensland nodded to the chicken they were situated closest to, still packaged. “Can I help you with dinner? I remind you, technically I first started talking about dinners Thursday night.”

“If you want you can chop the vegetables.” Before taking out the frying pan he had taken out a knife for the vegetables, set beside them on the cutting board. “And you can change the radio station too if you want to.”

“I won’t, I didn’t realise there was a classic rock station in range of the town,” Stensland mentioned, taking himself and his glass to the vegetables. “Not that I don’t appreciate some of the country music that I’ve heard since moving.”

Clyde slit the plastic seal over the chicken with a knife, peeling it back, only to realise that he needed his make-shift grill that he kept in the cupboard Stensland was standing by. “Don’t let my brother hear you say that.”

Standing behind him had Stensland twisting his head in slight surprise, pursing his lips for a different reason. “I do like some country,” Stensland started while he shuffled sideways, moving further upon realising he needed the lower cupboard. “I grew up on classic rock because of my parents, and a lot of grunge. I am from Seattle after all. Then a bit of alternative pop and rock from the late nineties, early… ohs? I gave up on the grunge pretty quickly though.”

With the grill he needed balanced over a shallow baking pan lined with foil Clyde put the chicken on the grill. He still needed to make up a marinade but that was relatively easy. Collecting the items from the fridge and cupboards as he needed while Stensland chopped he continued talking. “As you can imagine, the radio’s here have pretty consistently played country. There’s one Christian radio station if I remember correctly and the classic rock station and anything else is out of range. Unless you have satellite radio. But our parents had a good-sized collection of vinyl, sixties and seventies stuff. When we were going through their things I took them for myself.”

“You have a record player then?” Clyde winced by instinct when he heard the knife drop, even if it was onto the cutting board. It was still a loud sound but lacking an ensuing yelp he knew fingers were safe. Stensland was peering into the family room.

“That I don’t.” Sighing again, as though twelve years ago was just yesterday, he poured the oil into a bowl. “Mellie didn’t realise that her assessment of the “junk pile” included the very functional sound system that included the record player. My parents – my mum used it to her dying day. Mellie took the pieces down to the junkyard with Jimmy’s approval. He didn’t know the sound system was in there.”

“Oww.” The pained mutter was not for bloody wounds but sympathy. “You never tried looking to get a different record player?”

“I guess I’m nostalgic for what I can’t have.” Stirring in a variety of herbs he glanced sideways to Stensland, catching his small frown. “I know I could get a new one but I want something that looks right. I don’t need a fancy, high-end system. I want something that looks right with my parents’ vinyl collection.”

“I understand that.” Stensland resumed chopping, moving onto the onion. “Who would you say you like the most? Is your favourite the same from when you were younger?”

“I don’t think I had a favourite until I was eighteen.” That sounded about right. He remembered the parties of his senior year he had been invited to, by virtue of being the younger brother of Jimmy Logan. He could’ve been popular but he knew he wasn’t, didn’t want to be. While they had their parties with what was popular in country music he skipped out early, coming home to listen quietly to the records when his parents were already in bed. “I’ll listen to a variety of bands but I always come back to Bob Seger.”

“My parents – well, we listened to him. I remember more names than other but he stands out.” Clyde continued to watch him from the corner of his eye, surprised how precise he was with cutting. “Mind you, they both jumped on the bandwagon for any band with any Irish connection. They had to be upstanding citizens for their ilk, or so they claimed. So there was a lot of Thin Lizzy, and eventually U2.”

“Thin Lizzy gets my nod of approval,” Clyde commented, smiling faintly when Stensland heaved a sigh for the unspoken slight to the second band. “I have to ask, since you say Bob Seger stands out. What songs of his are your favourites?”

Moaning out a weary sound, though casting him a dry look, Stensland questioned his request. “Will I be judged for this?”

Clyde focused deliberately on the marinade, expression neutral. “That depends on your answer.”

“That is not comforting.” Finished with the onion Stensland flattened his hand on the little bit of space not occupied with food, twisting his face in concentration. “There’s something almost laughable about Katmandu, but I do like it. Not enough to be a favourite but worth mentioning. Favourites would have to be… Hollywood Nights and Roll Me Away.”

Done with the marinade Clyde took the brush, coating the chicken in a thick layer. “I’m actually impressed.”

“Let me guess, you were expecting me to say I Like that Old Time Rock and Roll or Like a Rock or… Turn the Page.” Meeting his glance with a slight cock of his head Stensland nearly smiled. “Well, Turn the Page is good, even if a popular choice.” 

Clyde couldn’t help but push further, a small tease. “No ballads?” 

“If I had to choose a favourite…” Eyebrows lifting with an inhale, cheeks turned a faint pink when he finally answered. “We’ve Got Tonight? Probably.”

“That’s actually one of my favourites,” Clyde admitted, turning a bit away when he realised that he was smiling. 

“Does that mean I score another point in your favour?”

“Maybe.” Opening the oven, glad to see that he had been prepared enough to remember to preheat the oven, he slid the chicken in. Door closed he glanced to the vegetables, pleased to see that the vegetables had been cut, or at least that was what he convinced himself to. 

“Are you doing anything special with the vegetables?” Stensland asked setting the knife down again.

If it had just been himself he would’ve sprinkled a little garlic in with them but tonight he decided against it. “Just lightly cook them, probably five minutes before the chicken is ready.” Another thought came to mind, recalling he had a fairly large breakfast but he didn’t know about Stensland. “Will the vegetables and chicken be enough for you? I could cook a little rice too.”

“It’ll be perfect,” Hesitating Stensland moved closer, picking up his glass with the step. Except with food preparation neither had noticed that the frying pan had been twisted to provide room. Elbow hitting the handle the pan made a clatter on the oven but liquid spilled over the glass, splashing onto Clyde’s shirt. “Shit! I didn’t mean to do that.” Shoving his glass onto the oven, out of range of the frying pan, Stensland grabbed for the cloth poised over the sink faucet. 

“It’s alright, it’s just a dro-” His words and breath caught when Stensland pressed the cloth to his chest, dabbing then gently stroking. It was damp enough to help take some of the stickiness out but it also pressed the thin fabric of his shirt against his skin, dampness spreading with each subsequent stroke. 

Strokes that got progressively slower, thumb trailing underneath the cloth following no particular path, absent of the stain that was mostly gone. “I insist,” Stensland murmured, whether to himself or Clyde, he didn’t mind. It sounded somewhat distracted, lost in favour of feeling.

He itched to reach out. “Did you get it out?”

“It’s funny,” Stensland continued in that soft voice, fingers unmoving but thumb dragging across his sternum. “I’ve known you for a while now but this is the first time there hasn’t been a bar between us.” 

Clyde swayed forward, until the full tip of Stensland’s thumb was pressed into his stomach, possibly feeling it flutter. “I like it better this way.” 

“Can…” His fingers started to curl into his shirt, down into his chest. “I want to kiss you.”

They moved at the same time, too fast to avoid their noses bumping. Then it slowed, lips finding lips, nutty but sweet, but a far greater taste drawing them closer and deeper. 

Clyde could ignore the growing wet spot on his chest, now the full size of Stensland’s hand, but fought to pull away from his mouth. A final wet suck on his glossy lip, gently coated with saliva and whiskey, and Clyde swallowed thickly, struggling to find any breath left in his body. “I think I wanted to do that – ever since you paid for my coffee.”

A little giggle escaped the rosy lips. “I’m sure that was out of gratitude.” 

“Not entirely.” He didn’t want to make assumptions out of two minutes worth of making out but his hand had other intentions, bracing heavily on the back of Stensland’s neck. A silent need to hold him then and there, nails scraping at the little hairs along his hairline. 

The way Stensland’s eyes rounded then squinted on a contented sigh made him look like a fluffy cat who then decided to mold himself against his chest. “Whatever your urge was… a few days later, I had it too. You’re a contagious man Clyde.”

“I’d offer you a seat but… I really do want you to enjoy dinner.” The tickle against his nose was worth it when a kiss pressed to the top of Stensland’s head got another giggle and lips pressed to his shoulder.

“I can do it standing too.” The giggle turned into a snort that Clyde returned. “After – after dinner. Not that I can guarantee that I can keep my hands off of you. Or my mouth. I knew you’d be a great kisser.”

A comment like that required follow-up. The cloth slid to the ground when Stensland’s hands came up to his shoulders, then into his hair. “I wouldn’t say it’s all a compliment on my skills,” Clyde murmured some time later, hand kneading at the denim clad butt, bringing Stensland flush to him. Pressed against the counter he thrilled at being cornered. 

“How much longer until the vegetables need to go on?” Stensland asked into his neck, nuzzling and nibbling in turn. 

“Ten more minutes.” Pressing his lips against Stensland’s temple, creeping down to his cheek as best the position allowed him to, he waited for Stensland to blindly grope for his whiskey, taking a long drink before setting it back down. 

His eyes were still clear, hungry, when he licked his way into his mouth. “Does the chef allow for footsy during dinner?”

“For this dinner, yes.” He’d have to force himself to eat slowly during dinner knowing it was Stensland sitting across from him. There were far more interesting things they could be doing but something told him Stensland would keep him entertained. “But we’ve still got time for that.”

And later, chin hooked over Stensland’s shoulder, unable to not assist him with the spoon, stirring the vegetables so they evenly cooked, he couldn’t help but rock against him, sucking along his jaw. 

A dinner in was a perfect first date.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish you can follow me on [Tumblr](http://centurytwitch.tumblr.com).


End file.
